


YAHF (Yet Another Halloween Fic)

by sunstarunicorn



Series: Magical Flashpoint Side Stories [18]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Justice League International (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Samhaine, Unforgivable Curses (Harry Potter), unexpected consequences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-13 22:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16480712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: It’s Halloween again, but this year Team One is on duty.  Then their new liaison turns up with news that a local Halloween party is being targeted by a group of magical pranksters – the very same party that all three Team One teens are attending!





	1. On-Duty…and Glad of It

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the Magical Flashpoint Side Story series. It follows "Magical Heritage" and comes before "Be Strong and Very Courageous".
> 
> It's Halloween time again and my inner geek is cackling in glee! Hang on tight, ya'll, we're heading back into JLI and Avengers territory. For full costume descriptions, please check out "Samhaine" for everyone sans Sam and "Samhaine, Redux" for Sam's costume. Hope you enjoy reading just as much as I enjoyed writing.
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_. I also do not own the Avengers or Justice League International.

Blue Beetle snarled in fury, struggling furiously to get at his target.  The weapon in his hand gleamed, its edge hungry for blood.  Sapphire narrowed beneath broad yellow goggles as the hero’s opponent forced him back, just as determined to _keep_ his best friend away from his target.

Booster Gold didn’t dare even glance over his shoulder at Agent Max Coulson for fear of giving Beetle an opening to get past his defenses.  Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have had any issues; his suit _did_ have superstrength built in, which just added to his natural strength; but Beetle was fighting like an obsessed madman.

“Beetle, stand down!” Booster yelled above the tumult.  “It’s Max, stand down!”

His friend didn’t respond, save to fight even harder against Booster’s hold.  Beneath his goggles, his eyes were glazed over and it was clear he only had one thought in his mind.  Get Max.  Booster gritted his teeth, forcing his friend back another step even as he calculated the best way to disarm the other hero.

Around him, he could hear Cap rapping out orders to their teammates, struggling to reverse the ambush they were trapped in without harming innocents.  Max chipped in grimly from time to time, though he let the Captain handle most of the work; Captain America had more experience with clawing back from lousy odds than Agent Coulson did.

“Muggle scum!” Beetle snarled abruptly, “Let me go!”

It was beyond eerie to hear those words from his non-magical friend; Booster shuddered at both the words and the venom imbued in them.  Then he cocked his head and volleyed, “Actually, Beetle, now that you _mention_ it, I actually _do_ have magic.”

Beetle stilled for an instant, his eyes widening in shock and the glaze starting to give way.  Mentally, Booster urged his friend to break free even as his sister hissed in fury, sending another arrow into the ground.  And, for one precious second, the Blue and the Gold looked over at the shimmering violet barrier between their team and the horde trying to kill them.

Then Beetle howled with renewed fury and launched himself at Max, halted only by his best friend’s lightning quick response: a fist straight to the blue hero’s jaw, taking him out of the fight – for good.

Regret shone in Booster’s eyes as he dragged Blue Beetle to the back of the group and out of the way.  But as he looked over his shoulder at his equally grim uncle, the regret faded away.

After all, Clark Lane would never forgive himself if he hurt his father’s boss, Sergeant Gregory Parker, even if he _was_ being mind controlled at the time.

* * * * *

_3 hours earlier_

It was Halloween time again and a certain SRU team was _extremely_ relieved to be on duty.  Even better from their perspective was the distinct _lack_ of any invitations from His Honor’s office; without Loki dangling His Honor’s family in front of his nose, the mayor was less than interested in any more Team One shenanigans at his annual Halloween party.  Frankly, the feeling was mutual; Team One was looking forward to a calmer Halloween – one without superheroes, supervillians, magic, or any combination thereof.

Due to an odd quirk of scheduling, although Team One was on duty, they were the secondary team for the shift.  As the SRU’s top team, they weren’t often relegated to backup status, but none of them minded the promise of a slower shift.  Oh, they might well get bored as the shift dragged on, but for the moment, the group was quite content to play second fiddle to Team Three.

Greg Parker settled into his usual spot in the briefing room, tackling his thankfully smaller than normal stack of paperwork.  Once he finished it up, he planned on joining his guys in the workout room – as a bonus, he hoped very much to catch Ed in the act of coming to harass him about his workout.  His team needed a laugh or two and Eddie was usually game to banter, even when caught off guard.

The Sergeant smirked to himself as he worked, absently planning out the best possible timing for his minor prank.  Less than an hour later, the last of the paperwork was set neatly in the ‘done’ stack and Greg took it out to Winnie; the two of them shared brief grins as Winnie promised to send Ed the signal that Greg was still working once Parker was in position.  Greg headed for the locker room and hustled into his workout clothes, slipping back up the ramp and giving Winnie a ‘go’ signal.

The pair had to wait for a few minutes, but then Winnie straightened up, clearly responding to Ed in the workout room.  Greg felt his smirk reappear as he sidled sideways and prepared to look as though he’d just been walking up the ramp.  Winnie’s head jerked towards the briefing room – Greg could almost see his team leader’s resigned sigh and he heard Wordy teasing Ed.  Less than thirty seconds later, Winnie’s eyes cut to him in a subtle motion and Greg started walking.

He strode up the ramp and nearly walked right into Eddie as the latter slid out of the workout room – the two men were forced to dodge around each other to prevent a collision.  Mentally, Greg applauded the superior prankster in this scenario – from behind him, he could hear Winnie giggling.  Minx.  But the Sergeant was no slouch either; once the hasty, awkward dodging was done, he reapplied his smirk and bestowed it on his team leader, who caught on at once.

“Fancy meeting you here, Eddie,” Greg teased.

“Done with paperwork already, Boss?” Ed drawled, doing his best to pretend he hadn’t been caught off guard.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Parker confirmed, his smirk growing.  Tilting his head at the workout room, he mock-questioned, “Room for one more in there?”

“Always,” Ed confirmed, his eyes glinting in amusement.  “But I’m going to get you for this one, Greg.”

“Get me for what?” Greg inquired innocently as he headed for an exercise bike.

In the background, the rest of Team One snickered.

* * * * *

Wordy leaned back a bit as he ran on one of the workout room’s elliptical trainers.  A mischievous smile appeared, glinting in his eyes as well.  “So, Sarge,” he began, waiting for his boss to look up.  “Who’re the kids going as tonight?”

“You have to guess?” Ed jabbed at once.  “Three guess for all three of ‘em and the last two don’t count.”

“Did they go with Clark?” Jules interjected, leaning forward on her exercise bike.

Ed tossed a grin over his shoulder.  “Clark asked if they wanted to go with him,” the team leader confirmed.  “They said yes almost before he was done askin’.”

Laughter rose from his teammates.  “So, Clark and Sarge’s _nipotes_ headed for the Halloween party at the high school?” Sam clarified.

“That’s affirmative,” the Boss agreed.  “Wordy, what about your girls?”

Wordy hiked one shoulder in a shrug.  “Lilly’s got a new friend in her class,” he reported.  “Parents sent Lilly an invite; when Shelley called, they said her sisters were welcome too, so they headed there.”

“What costumes?” Lou questioned, curiosity shining.

Wordy laughed.  “You guys won’t believe this – I sure didn’t – but Lilly found out her friend is into superheroes and came to me begging to wear her costume from that Halloween two years ago.”

Comprehension shone on the Sarge’s face.  “So _that’s_ why you came looking for those costumes,” he mused out loud.  “Did they fit?”

A nod.  “Shelley was shocked,” Wordy related.  “Then I reminded her where your kids got them in the first place.”

“So _all_ the kids are wearing their superhero costumes?”  Spike’s tone was surprised and just a bit incredulous, particularly for the teenagers – he would’ve thought the chaos _last_ Halloween was more than enough incentive to find _new_ costumes.

The two fathers and one uncle traded looks, then, almost as one, turned towards the bomb tech and replied, “Yes.”

“Oy vey,” Spike muttered under his breath.  If _he_ ever wore his costume again, it would be much too soon.  A glance over at Lou earned the tech a nod of agreement – Lou couldn’t imagine wearing his costume again either.

“Any warrants on tap?” Sam broke in, his voice hopeful.

“Not for us, Sam,” Sarge parried regretfully.  “Team Three’s primary this shift, remember?”

Sam’s shoulders slumped at the gentle reminder.  “Copy,” he replied glumly.

Ed twisted around to peer at his fellow sniper.  “What’s up?” came the direct inquiry.

The blond met his team leader’s gaze, fidgeting even as he kept running on his treadmill.  “I don’t know,” he admitted.  “Just a bad feeling.”

Blue eyes narrowed and the tall, lanky constable briefly flicked his eyes around the workout room.  “Anyone else?” he questioned.

Wordy hiked one shoulder.  “Ed, it’s Halloween,” he pointed out.  “Something crazy almost _always_ happens today.”

Ed grimaced; Wordy had a point – Halloween tended to be one of the craziest days of the year for law enforcement.  Aside from the usual sources of trouble on a day-to-day basis were those folks who seemed to think Halloween gave them a waiver to do whatever they pleased, regardless of who got hurt in the process.  Egging, toilet papering, smashing pumpkins, and even the _real_ ‘geniuses’ who were low enough to steal candy from trick or treating kids.  Before he’d joined the SRU, there had been one Halloween when an idiot tried to do that to Clark; he’d had the cuffs on before the jerk could blink.

That said, Sam wasn’t the type to get jumpy for no reason.  Plus, Ed had a creepy, crawly, ‘something is wrong’ feeling himself.  And an itchy sensation, right between his shoulder blades, that just wouldn’t go away.  As if something was missing, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.  Discreetly, the team leader glanced around at his team, noticing a faint tension around all of them.  Silently, he came to his conclusion.  Something _was_ wrong…now he just had to figure out _what_.

* * * * *

The brunet head that poked into their workout room was both familiar and unfamiliar.  Their newest Auror liaison was a half-blood and therefore more comfortable with the tech world than either of his two predecessors had been.  Of course, he _was_ still a wizard, which meant he didn’t have the first clue of how tech law enforcement worked.  But Auror Giles Onasi wasn’t letting his inexperience slow him down; he dropped by SRU headquarters as often as he could get away with, quietly shadowing the techies he was now working with and learning as much about technology as the team could teach him.  As yet, the Auror had only called them in once, but, judging by the wizard’s expression, he was about to make it twice.

With a half-shy, half-uncertain expression, Onasi called, “Perhaps I might have a moment of your time, Sergeant Parker?”

Parker straightened, hazel meeting hazel.  “Just me or is this a call?” he questioned, keeping his tone nonjudgmental.

Onasi frowned, thinking the question over for a moment.  Then he sighed and tilted his head towards the briefing room.  “A call,” he confirmed.

Team One streamed off the exercise equipment, heading past the Auror and into the briefing room.  By the time Onasi recovered from his surprise at how quickly the techies could move when they needed to, he was alone with an amused Parker, with six pairs of equally amused eyes watching from the briefing room.

“Still getting the hang of it?” the Sergeant inquired, steering the younger man towards his team.

“I guess so,” came the rueful reply.

Parker smiled with a mix of sympathy and encouragement.  “You’ll get there,” he promised.  Then they were in the briefing room and the negotiator’s expression turned business-like.  “What do we got?”

Though the Auror was caught off guard again, he recovered his composure after a startled blink.  “Well…” he began, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the right explanation.  “From what I’ve heard, you already know some wizards like to play pranks on unsuspecting Muggles, _particularly_ on days like Halloween.”

Grumbles of agreement rose.  Ed’s eyes narrowed.  “Have we got another _nut_ attacking Halloween parties?”

“Or did Loki get away again?” Lou tacked on.

A quick negative head shake.  “As far as I know, ‘Loki’ is under lock and key,” Onasi returned.  “He’s been sentenced to McKean for repeated breaches of the Statute of Secrecy.”  The Auror shifted his weight, then began to pace back and forth, his hands emphasizing his words.  “No, we always have a few troublemakers this time of year.  Most of its small stuff, shrinking keys, casting fear wards to keep Muggle children away from some of the houses, even a few drunken idiots who smash pumpkins.”

Snickers rose at the last; Sam quipped, “Sounds familiar,” under his breath to Jules, who covered her laugh with a quick cough.

“We’ve got an exception this year?” Parker queried, frowning thoughtfully.

A nod.  “To say the least.  Last year, they ran amuck in Paris, came almost as close as Loki did to breaching the Statute of Secrecy.  Only reason they didn’t go to prison was ‘cause they all got away.”

“And now they’re here,” Ed hissed, stiffening.

The second nod was glum.  “We wouldn’t even know, but one of ‘em got cold feet.  Turned himself in an hour ago.”

“Why?” Sam demanded sharply.  “He’s done this before, what’s different this time?”

The Auror winced.  “This year the gang’s leader decided to um…up the ante.”

“Meaning?” the Sergeant pressed, feeling the hair on the back of his neck go up.

Onasi drew in a bracing breath.  “The gang’s going after a Muggle high school’s Halloween party.”

“Where?” Lou barked, beating his teammates to the punch by nanoseconds.

“Um…I wrote it down,” the brunet admitted sheepishly, digging in the pocket of his dragonhide jacket and coming up with a small bundle of parchment.  He sorted through it for several seconds, then offered one sheet to Sergeant Parker.

As soon as Parker saw the school name, he froze, his face paling.  “Eddie,” he whispered, holding out the parchment.

Ed snatched the page, going just as pale as his boss as soon as he saw it.  “Clark.”


	2. Queen Bee

Lance whistled under his breath when he got a good look at the Halloween decorations set up in the gymnasium of Clark’s high school.  The crowd of partygoers was equally impressive, particularly with the sheer _variety_ of costumes on display.  Some costumes were clearly store bought, others were almost cobbled together, and still more had been exquisitely crafted by their owners.  But all of them displayed a lingering child-like joy in dressing up and pretending to be someone else.

Clark grinned at his two pseudo cousins.  “Cool, huh?”  Lance nodded eagerly, his enthusiasm supplementing and compounding his excitement.

“It looks like that convention Uncle Spike took us to,” Alanna observed, though her own awe sounded…muted.

The golden hero snuck a look sideways.  “Sis?”

One shoulder hiked, the movement fluid and graceful in a way that suited someone older and more experienced than his sister.  “It’s…odd…” was her only remark.

Strangely, that was all her brother needed to nod understandingly.  He’d felt it, too, just as soon as he donned his costume.  The sense of alien, but somehow familiar memories in the back of his head, right along with the knowledge needed to use every _bit_ of his equipment.  And Skeets was discreetly cruising along right above his shoulder, doing his best impression of a shoulder-mounted wire model.  So far the little robot hadn’t gotten caught, though Lance was looking forward to seeing how long the security ‘bot could keep his act up.

Booster turned his head, blinking at how smooth and effortless the transition between his _real_ identity and his superhero identity was.  Odd – and more than a bit unnerving truth be told.  Even more unnerving was the way the two sets of memories were twining together, meshing to give him the best of both ‘worlds’.  He _knew_ he could use his magic without fear of damaging his equipment, _knew_ his forcefield and Booster shots were just as powerful as his spells, without the drain on his magical core.  Unlike the year before, Lance wasn’t being drowned out or suppressed by Booster, but the difference almost made it worse.  If he really concentrated, he could keep himself separate from Booster Gold, but whenever he didn’t, he wasn’t _just_ one or the other…he was both at the same time.  Freaky.  Unnerving.  And starting to feel _normal_.

To his left, Beetle was frowning, as if he, too, was noticing the alien memories and skills.  As if he, too, was feeling the two sets of memories twine together; all of a sudden, Booster wanted his costume _off_ so he could go back to being just Lance.  “Something wrong, Clark?” Booster questioned, his voice casual; on his opposite side, Hawkeye snapped on alert, her head turning so keen violet eyes could examine their teammate.

“I don’t know,” Beetle replied after a minute.  “You feel it, too, Booster?”  Then he jerked.  “Sorry, Lance, don’t know where _that_ came from.”

Booster grinned, letting his best ‘I’m-an-oblivious-idiot’ smile loose.  “No problem, Clark,” he reassured his friend.  “You’re just getting into character.”

The two friends shared their usual pre-mischief expressions, though Beetle’s expression hid his confusion over the double memories he was saddled with.  Unlike the Calvin siblings, Clark didn’t remember the events of the prior Halloween – Loki had, right at the end, nailed him with a nasty spell that had wiped out all his memories of being Blue Beetle.

Alanna rolled her eyes and moved past the two grinning pranksters.  “Are they serving punch here?”

Beetle snapped out of his idiotic grin.  “Yep.”  He nudged Hawkeye’s shoulder, missing her askance look at being touched without her permission, and turned her towards a nearby table.  “The teachers stay close to this bowl, so it’s usually the safest punch to drink from.”

“Probably the fullest one, too,” Lance quipped.

“That goes without saying, buddy.”

* * * * *

Clark shifted uncomfortably as his mind idly calculated three different gadget designs as well as a computer program to keep track of Kord Industries’ latest expenditures…he was reasonably sure that one of his top execs was embezzling funds…  Abruptly, he jerked upright.  That wasn’t right – he didn’t _have_ a company or any top execs.  The teenager shifted behind Booster, rubbing his forehead; he wasn’t sure what was going on, but he trusted his best friend to have his back, come rain or shine.  After all, Booster was one of the _few_ members of the League who didn’t mind his bantering and jokes in the face of danger.  No, that wasn’t right either!  He was Clark Lane, teenage high schooler, not Ted Kord, entrepreneur, businessman, and superhero.

“Something wrong, Clark?”

A would-be suave smile appeared on Beetle’s face.  “I’m fine, Hawkeye,” he lied.  Booster, he trusted, but his sister?  She’d let Booster think she was dead…hadn’t she?  Or had that been Michelle?  Now he was getting a headache over how many sisters his best bud had.

In any event, Hawkeye was less than impressed – she had a hiked, pointed eyebrow as she looked him up and down skeptically.  “ _Really_ ,” she observed, the disbelief dripping from her tone.

Booster, overhearing them, turned, a worried look in his eyes, though only someone who knew the glory hound well would recognize the concern.  Supes and Bats could judge Booster all they wanted, but they didn’t know the golden hero like _he_ did – they didn’t know even _half_ of what Booster had given up in the line of duty, what he’d sacrificed to protect the people he cared about and even people who’d never know him or, worse from Beetle’s perspective, confused him for Green Lantern.

Clark’s hands came up by themselves, covering his eyes as he fought to find _himself_ in the morass of Ted Kord’s mind and memories.  Abruptly, the overwhelming flood stopped, pulling back.  Through his closed eyelids, Clark could see gold and violet, but his fading headache was still fierce enough that he couldn’t bear to look.  It took a minute to recover his sense of self and then he peeked through his fingers at his two worried friends.

“What’s happening to me?” he whispered, instinctively keeping his voice down; no _way_ did he want anyone to realize he was losing his mind.

Lance’s hand tightened on his right shoulder and Alanna somehow managed to cuddle close without _looking_ like she was, leaning against Clark’s other arm.  “It’s okay, Clark,” she murmured, just loud enough for the curly-haired teen to hear.  “We’re going to get through this.”

“ ‘Lanna’s right,” Lance agreed softly.  “Just…stay close and tell us if it starts getting worse again.”

Clark felt a flash of terror as his teammates let go; he wanted to clutch at them, but his fear of being seen as a wimp reared its head, stilling his tongue and movements.  Within seconds, Ted Kord had roared back to life, his thoughts, feelings, and memories mixing and twining with Clark’s, but somehow, it was better than it had been.  He could still find himself, though it was harder than he would’ve liked.  Even so, he shivered.  What was _wrong_ with him?

* * * * *

Hawkeye studied the rafters, stifling the urge to slip away and sneak up to the higher, safer ground.  Her brother and Beetle would watch her back; she could _trust_ them.  Booster… _Lance_ …wasn’t like Barney, he would _never_ betray her.  Ironically, her magic knew that better than _she_ did at the moment – Clint Barton’s memories shoved at her, gibbering that she couldn’t trust anyone except Natasha and Coulson.  Violet flicked towards Clark and she found herself wishing bitterly that she and Lance hadn’t mentioned the idea of wearing their now three-years running Halloween costumes.  Obviously, they’d missed something when they’d checked the costumes for magical residue after Loki’s little Halloween spell.

Well, whatever they’d missed meant Clark was about to find out about magic – again.  No _way_ could either sibling justify lying to their friend when the magic was plain as day…as close as the costume he was currently wearing and the alien memories he was struggling to handle.  The only real question was how best to explain everything that had happened since they’d moved to Toronto…perhaps even _why_ their parents had sent them to a virtual stranger.

One hand crept up and over her shoulder, checking her bow even as her mind coolly sorted through the gear she currently had available.  A frown touched Hawkeye’s face…something was wrong.  Unerringly, the archer looked towards the gymnasium’s main entrance, a finger of ice crawling up her spine, straightening it as she tensed for immediate action.

In quick, sharp movements, her eyes swept left, then right.  Booster was balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to take flight at a moment’s notice, and Beetle’s hand hovered over his gun, one finger touching the control that set the weapon’s mode.

“You feel it?” she questioned in an undertone.

“Yeah,” Booster confirmed.  “Skeets, drop down and stay out of sight.”

“Yes, sir,” the security ‘bot acknowledged, dipping down to hide behind the three Avenger Leaguers.

“Hawkeye, go high and call in backup,” the golden hero added, instinctively taking charge.

“Copy.”

“Beetle, stay low.  Hit ‘em once Hawkeye’s in position.”

“Got it,” the bug-eyed hero confirmed.  Then his eyes hardened under his goggles.  “If you die, I will never speak to you again,” he promised.

Booster grinned.  “What are you worried about?” he retorted.  “It’s me!”

“Oxymoron, brother mine,” Hawkeye countered without even so much as a flicker of humor in her voice.

Then the spell struck.

* * * * *

_Obey me.  Worship me._

The words rang in his head, each one sinking into flesh and bone, mind and spirit.  They pressed down, reaching past his soul’s feeble protests as he floated in sheer, utter, and complete contentment.  His queen was calling to him and he could not deny her.

_Act as though everything is normal,_ _she_ instructed, _her_ voice gentle and understanding.  _Act as though you are at a Halloween party with your friends._

He nodded obediently, a thrill dancing up his back, making his contentment even deeper and more complete.

_And when you go home,_ _she_ added, _You will bring your family to me, so that they may join you._

Yes, yes, yes.  Joy filled him at the thought of his family experiencing _this_ , having _her_ as their queen.  Forever.

* * * * *

A room full of teenagers and a handful of adult chaperones nodded obediently to the witch who stood in their midst, her eyes dancing with savage delight.  Her gang spread out, watching for any stragglers, but none of them were concerned about getting caught.  No _Muggle_ could fight the _Imperious_ curse after all.  Bit by bit, they would work their way through the city, bringing more and more of the beasts under their control.  And when they were done, no one would be able to stop their world from taking its _rightful_ place, ruling over the Muggles as they _should_ have from the very beginning.

Not a single member of the gang noticed two teenagers carefully shifting back, pulling their mind-controlled friend with them; their eyes gleamed violet and gold as they moved.  The siblings spoke without words, hands shaping signals in a mix of what they’d picked up from their family and their superhero memories.  A small football sized robot drifted even lower, impossible to spot in the crowd.

Slim fingers pressed down on a phone’s keypad without their owner looking, a message composed and sent without even the slightest shift in expression or stance.

As the party restarted and Queen Bee strolled to the refreshment table, her smile growing larger at the slavish adoration of her new subjects, two superheroes traded the merest of glances.

Game on.


	3. Stealth Entry

Just as Team One was about to roll out, Greg’s phone buzzed.  The Sergeant frowned, pulling his phone out.  The message drew a soft, but vicious curse.

“Boss?”

Trust Eddie to be quick on the uptake.  “Team, stand down,” Parker ordered heavily.  “Alanna just sent me a text.”

“They’re already there,” Sam hissed angrily.

“That’s affirmative.”

“Then we need to get there,” Ed insisted loudly.

“And do what?” Spike countered scathingly.  “Get jumped by Clark and all his classmates?”

“Spike?” Wordy questioned.

Lou, though, immediately picked up on Spike’s train of thought.  “Magic, Wordy,” he pointed out glumly.  “Whatcha wanna bet that gang member backed out ‘cause they were planning on using the _Imperious_?”

“No bet,” Greg called as his phone chimed with a new message.  “ ‘Lanna confirms that the entire party, except for _mio nipotes_ , is under the _Imperious_.”  He glanced over at the wizard in his passenger seat.  “Onasi, are we dealing with purebloods or half-bloods?”

“Both,” the Auror replied.  “Might even be a few Muggleborns with grudges mixed in.”

Oh, _joy_.  “They’ll recognize police uniforms right away then,” the Sergeant concluded grimly.  He received an equally grim nod in return.

“We need a way to get in that they won’t be expecting,” Jules mused thoughtfully.

“Maybe we could just pretend our uniforms are costumes,” Wordy proposed.

“Costumes,” Ed echoed incredulously.  “With sidearms, cuffs and all our gear?  Come on, Word, no _way_ they’ll fall for that.”

“Hey, you never know with wizards,” Wordy defended himself, though his defense was rather feeble…he knew just as well as Ed did that their actual, real-life uniforms were unlikely to go unnoticed by the tech-born wizards – _they_ knew what the real thing looked like.

“Wait…” Sam’s voice was slow, as if he was thinking through his idea even as he spoke.  “What if we _do_ go in costume?”

“Where’d we even _find_ costumes?” Ed objected at once, his scowl audible.

Greg flinched.  Store-bought costumes wouldn’t cover their weapons…they’d get caught as soon as the gang – or their _Imperioused_ hostages – caught sight of Team One’s sidearms.  But…  A part of him blanched, but another, stronger part tingled with excitement.  “I know where,” he admitted quietly, the strange excitement growing by the second.  “My place.”

“Last year’s costumes?”  Mixed dismay and the same excitement he felt was in Wordy’s voice.

“Yep,” Parker confirmed.  “Unless someone’s got a better idea?”

Silence that tingled with expectation was the Sergeant’s only response.

“Okay,” Greg decided.  “Let’s move.”

* * * * *

The four trucks pulled into the school faculty’s parking lot, careful to park as far from the building as they could, behind a cluster of cars and SUVs.  The officers eyed the school balefully as they took turns changing into their costumes.  Auror Onasi flicked up a few minor glamour charms to give his Muggle colleagues a touch of privacy, but otherwise stayed away as the team changed swiftly.

Except for Black Widow, Agent Coulson, and Captain America, the team’s guns were tucked safely inside the trucks, replaced by repulsors, shields, trick weapons, and Mjolnir.  Cap frowned briefly at War Machine’s very visible armament, but decided it was worth the risk.  Besides, ordering Rhodes to stay behind while Stark went into danger was akin to expecting a furious, rampaging bull to stand down even as someone waved a red flag.  Just not happening.

Wait…Wordy shook his head, a shiver crawling up his spine at the double memories and the way his Captain America side was automatically taking charge.  _He_ wasn’t team leader, _Ed_ was.  The brunet glanced over his shoulder at Agent Coulson…no, darn it, _Sarge_.

Sarge surveyed the team, his hazel eyes darker than normal, with a cool calculation in them that Cap recognized from his brief interactions with Coulson.  The SHIELD agent judged the Avenger Leaguers for a moment more, then flicked his gaze to Rodgers with a quiet nod.

The Captain nodded back, understanding.  He had command.  The superhero turned towards Mister Miracle.  “We got a back entrance into this place?”

“We do,” the escape artist confirmed smoothly.  “Shall I lead the way?”

“Stay low,” Cap ordered quietly as the team started moving.  “Blend in and find the kids.”  Oh, the civilians were his priority, but the _best_ way to help them was to have a full team.  Plus, finding the kids first would reassure Sarge and Ed, freeing them up to completely focus on the job.  Thinking of his little girls and the team wives, Wordy gave silent thanks that they were nowhere _near_ this mess.  No matter how useful having Big Barda, Black Canary, Ice, and Goldstar here would be.

* * * * *

_Get to Clint._   Jules grimaced, forcing the Black Widow’s frantic demand down again.  She didn’t _like_ this, not at all.  Didn’t want Natasha Romanoff’s blood-soaked memories or her lethal combat methods.  The Black Widow was an _assassin_ , not a cop, and Jules found herself wishing she’d picked a different costume the year before.  Or maybe even _stayed_ with Pepper Potts.

Compounding her _intense_ dislike of her costume was the way the Black Widow was refusing to trust any of her teammates save Coulson.  The Widow respected the rest, but trust them?  Ha!  Trust – and love – was for children.

Jules fought back, thrusting her own memories at the Black Widow.  Every time her teammates had had her back, every time she’d had _theirs_.  They wouldn’t turn on her, she _knew_ that with every fiber of her being.

Without thinking, she drifted closer to Sarge, brushing against him by accident.  Without warning, Romanoff pulled back, right along with the near overwhelming flood of her abilities and memories.  The constable shifted position, away from her boss, and her balance went back to being more like an assassin than a cop; the Black Widow slipped back into her psyche, but with less force than before.

It wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but Jules knew it was the best she was going to get.  And at least she wasn’t getting drowned out anymore.

* * * * *

As soon as he heard JARVIS in his ear, Tony Stark was in his element, scanning for threats, keeping a running tab on his teammates, and acting as Cap’s unofficial second-in-command.  Then he blinked and Team One’s bomb tech shivered inside the Iron Man suit.  What the heck?  They’d busted that lousy spell thing apart last year, so why did he suddenly feel more like a Stark than a Scarlatti?

“Sir?”

“Spike,” was the soft, near plaintive plea.  “Call me Spike.”  Anything to keep his _own_ identity even as he felt like he was drowning in the alcoholic billionaire superhero.

“Sir, if I may,” JARVIS tried again.  “It does appear as though you require assistance.”

A bitter laugh that only JARVIS could hear.  “Really, J,” Tony mocked, “What gave you _that_ idea?”

Undaunted, JARVIS flicked the helmet’s HUD **(1)** up, highlighting three of Spike’s teammates.  “Perhaps your teammates can assist you, _Spike_ ,” the AI observed, a careful, deliberate emphasis on the bomb tech’s real name.

Them?  For an instant, Tony Stark’s scorn blazed bright, then Spike resurfaced enough to gasp for air, grimly forcing his way through Stark’s instinctive ‘I-don’t- _need_ -help’ reaction.  To his right, Rhodey, no, _Lou_ , managed to ‘accidently’ dip close enough to Thor for the two men to touch, skin to armor.  The thunder god frowned as he steadied his teammate, but in the depths of his eyes, there was a flash of understanding.

Spike hastily looked away, even as he pushed forward with an irreverent, “What’s the plan, Capsicle?  Got one yet?”

Cap’s gray eyes were cool as he flicked them back to regard Stark.  “This from the man who said, ‘I have a plan.  Attack’?”

“Well, even billionaire playboys can learn,” Tony jibed, even as he made a show of brushing past the other man, the Iron Man armor glancing off Rodger’s arm.  The contact was only a split second, but Spike nearly wilted in relief as Stark’s persona pulled back enough for him to regain control.  Fear clenched his gut as the billionaire’s mind, ability, and memories strengthened again, then he relaxed; Stark was _there_ , which Spike wasn’t happy about, but the ‘blending’ was more even; instead of being on the edge of losing himself, Spike was in _control_.

But…why had _Wordy_ made a difference?  Spike nibbled his lip, then closed his eyes in chagrin.  Ooooh, _right_ …Wordy was a Squib-born, just like Sarge and Samtastic.  Huh.  Apparently even a shred of magic made one _heck_ of a difference.

Iron Man turned his head, meeting War Machine’s impassive gaze.  It took no more than a second for the two suits to establish contact.  “Lou, you okay?” Spike questioned anxiously.

“Better than I was,” Lou replied quietly.  “This is freaky, even for _us_.”

“No kidding,” Tony hissed.  “I thought that spell thing last year was a onetime deal.”

“I did, too,” Rhodey agreed ruefully.  “Guess not.”

“What do we do now?”

Lou was silent so long that Spike began to worry his friend had lost his hold on reality.  Then, abruptly, “Spike, man, grab Ed and get him over to Wordy.”

Oh, no.  Spike grimaced even as he turned enough to see his team leader triggering Mister Miracle’s aero-discs.  “I’d better get hazard pay for this,” the bomb tech/billionaire grumbled to no one in particular.

“Shall I make a note of that, sir?” JARVIS inquired.

“No!”

* * * * *

Scott Free shifted back on his heels, triggering his aero-discs as his concern for Booster, Beetle, and Hawkeye flared higher.  The youngest members of the team, alone and without backup…it could not be borne.  There was something at the back of his mind, struggling and straining, but it was simplicity itself for Mister Miracle to swat it down.

“Ed?”

A frown surfaced; why was Cap calling him by a different name?  He glanced over at his team leader, letting his displeasure show in his eyes.  Gray widened in alarm, but before either hero could speak, Stark was dragging him back down to the ground.  “Stealth entry means no flying,” the billionaire chided, not letting go as he hauled Free closer to the Captain.  “Better keep a good grip on him, Cap.”

Rodgers’ eyes glittered with amusement and a strange understanding; as soon as he grabbed hold, Scott felt his awareness dim…

“Gah!  Wordy?” Ed gasped, nearly reeling as he regained control.

“Back with us, Ed?” Wordy questioned under his breath, stealing a look back at their Auror liaison who, fortunately, was trailing far enough behind that he hadn’t noticed Team One’s difficulties.

The team leader made a face, understanding his friend’s caution.  Wilkins-approved Onasi might be, but none of the team felt all that trusting in the wake of Anderson’s vicious attack on young Claire Wordsworth and Amanda Simmons.  Even so…  “Word, if this keeps happening…”

“I know,” Wordy agreed bleakly as they approached the gymnasium’s back entrance.  “Ed, _you’re_ team leader, not me; this one’s your call.”

Miracle shook his head.  “Team?”

The rest understood the question.  Lou spoke first.  “I think we’re good, Ed.”

“For now,” Jules interjected.

“Everyone without magic needs to stay close to us Squib-borns,” Sam suggested.  “I think that’s making the difference.”

Nods went ‘round as the team bunched up, prepping for entry.  Ed debated, then flicked a look over at the Captain.  “Cap, take the lead,” he ordered softly.  “Can’t dump the costumes, might as well use ‘em.”

“Copy that, _Ed_ ,” Wordy acknowledged.

 

[1] Heads Up Display


	4. Float Like a Cadillac

No one noticed when the gymnasium’s back door was eased open from the outside.  Iron Man’s form was stiff and tense; the plan had been for Cap and Miracle to enter first, but the door had been locked, forcing the team to change their entry plans.  One by one, the heroes slid into the gym, doing their best to blend in.  It turned out to be easier than they’d thought – the gym’s loudspeakers were blaring the latest and ‘greatest’ bands at a volume high enough that Sarge automatically cringed and hunched his shoulders in a futile effort to protect his sensitive hearing.

All around them, the party itself was in full swing; teenagers danced the night away, shifting between partners with an effortlessness that was so smooth that it _looked_ fake.  As if the Avengers had stepped onto a stage, not into a high school Halloween party.  The smiles, too, looked wrong – too serene and identical.  Spike glanced into a few pairs of eyes as his team cautiously scanned for their three adolescent members and shuddered; up close the teenagers’ eyes were blank and dead, with no life or expression in them whatsoever.

“Mr. Lord.”

The whole group glanced down as a small football shaped robot approached, weaving between two dancers as he flew low to the ground.  Sarge’s eyes sharpened.  “Skeets?”

“Sir,” Skeets replied, flying upwards until he was on level with the Sergeant’s shoulders.  “Booster and Hawkeye are unharmed by the _Imperious_ curse.”  He stopped at the hisses of fury, waiting patiently for the outbursts to stop.  “Unfortunately, I must report that Blue Beetle was unable to fight off the curse.”

“Does anyone know the kids were able to fight off the curse?” the Boss questioned.

A negatory movement came from the small ‘bot.  “No, sir,” Skeets returned.  “None of the _Imperioused_ partiers are aware; the gang is also unaware.  I do not believe they expected to encounter any one at this party with magic, Mr. Lord.”

“Where are they?” Ed demanded, a parent’s rage and panic in his eyes.

Skeets bobbed a moment.  “They have been working themselves and Blue Beetle towards a side exit,” the security ‘bot explained.  “I do not believe they are aware of the rear entrance that you used.”

The Boss and Ed traded looks.  “Clark would know the exits,” the former murmured.

“But if he’s out of commission…” the team leader countered, his anger growing.

“Skeets, get back to them and redirect them to us,” Sarge decided.  “The gym’s rear exit is unguarded; it’s our best shot to regroup and start getting this situation under control.”

“At once, sir,” Skeets acknowledged, flitting down and vanishing into the crowd.

“Team, hold position,” Wordy ordered coolly.  “Spike, Lou, see if your suits can spot our gang members.”

“Copy,” Lou replied, overlapping with Spike’s, “You got it, Cap.”

“And Spike,” Wordy ground out, letting his words stretch and hang.  “Don’t call me Cap.”

Contrite, Spike immediately apologized, “Sorry, buddy.  Just slipped out.”

The red, white, and blue clad hero grimaced, understanding his teammate’s silent point.  It was _going_ to happen again…and keep happening until they could all get out of the stupid costumes.  In other words, they’d all try their best to use their _real_ names, but that just might be impossible.  “Understood, _Stark_ ,” Wordy snipped nonetheless.  Just because he had to live with it, _didn’t_ mean he had to be happy about it.

* * * * *

“You heard him, J,” Spike remarked to the AI in the Iron Man suit.  “Find those gang members.”

“Certainly, sir,” JARVIS acknowledged.  “I believe I have already identified our targets.”

The bomb tech’s brows shot up.  “That was fast.”

In the HUD, several targets appeared, all in red.  Around them were masses of purples figures, JARVIS’s method of highlighting the _Imperioused_ victims.  Both hostile and friendly.  Spike’s teammates were showing up green, which included two figures in the mass of purple.  There was one more figure, next to the two green figures, shown in a brown color that flickered more towards red than green.  Clark.  It had to be.

Spike whistled low, grateful JARVIS knew not to transmit their conversation.  “Give, J.  How’d you do that so fast?”

“Quite simple, sir,” JARVIS replied smugly.  “Both this suit and Colonel Rhodes’ suit can detect magical users.  I can also detect Skeets, so I extrapolated that Skeets was unlikely to approach any hostile magical users.”

“And Clark?”

A hesitation, then, “Sir, the costumes also have a magical signature.”

“Which you can detect,” Spike concluded.

“Yes, sir.”

Well.  At least he wouldn’t have any trouble keeping track of his teammates if things went south.  A slight shift and JARVIS obligingly activated the suit’s external speakers.  “Wordy, we got ‘em.”

“They’re covering all the exits except the one we used,” Lou tacked on.

“Convenient,” Thor muttered, resting one hand on Mjolnir.

“Maybe they don’t know about it, either,” Onasi offered tentatively.

Ed frowned.  “If they’ve got tech-borns working with ‘em, they _should_ know enough to look for the emergency exits,” he pointed out, glancing pointedly over his shoulder at the exit sign right above the entrance they’d used.

“Since when are wizards logical?” Spike piped up, adding a hasty, “Present company excluded,” at the indignant expression on Onasi’s face.

“The back exits are supposed to be locked,” a familiar voice informed the team.  As the adults turned, Lance gave them a wry look.  “Clark told us on the way in that the teachers locked the back exits to keep students from sneaking out to smoke or get high in the parking lot.”

“In violation of the fire code,” Lou drawled, looking rather unhappy.  “Spike, no wonder you had to jimmy the door open.”

“Did you leave it open?” the Boss questioned intently, the beginnings of a plan gleaming in hazel eyes.

Confused, Spike nodded.  “Sure did, Boss.”

The Sergeant’s attention turned towards Clark, a thoughtful expression on his face.  “Clark?”

Clark turned, his smile so serene and blank that the team shuddered.  “Yes, sir?”

“What are you supposed to do once the party is over?”

The teen’s frown was distant; his eyes stayed blank and serene even as his jaw pulled into a grimace.  “My queen wants me to bring my family to her,” he recited obediently.  “Then she can make them happy forever.”  He tilted his head to the side.  “Is the party over?”

“Not yet, but it’s winding down,” Ed lied smoothly, jumping on his chance to get his son away from the gang’s ‘queen’.

Clark brightened.  “My queen is eager to meet my family,” he announced happily to no one in particular.

“Well, _I’d_ sure like to meet _her_ ,” the team leader muttered under his breath, his expression livid.  “Make things _memorable_ for her.”

“Easy, Eddie,” the Sarge murmured.  “Let’s get the kids out of here, then we can arrest the subjects.”

Carefully, the group edged towards the exit Spike had forced open, doing their best to act casual.  The _Imperioused_ Clark was anything but casual; fortunately, the people around him were just as _Imperioused_ and therefore oblivious to anything save what they were told by their ‘queen’.

Things went smoothly right up until they reached the exit door.  Sarge moved to take Clark in hand while Spike and Ed got the door open again; he didn’t notice Clark’s eyes falling on his sidearm until the blue-clad superhero stiffened.

“Clark?” he asked, one eyebrow rising at the frozen expression on Clark’s face.

“My queen _loathes_ cops,” Clark spat, right before he raised his voice and yelled, “ _Cops!  Infiltrators!  Stop them!_ ”

For a split second, tension hung as every last partygoer turned towards the Avenger Leaguers, their expressions a perfect match to Clark’s.  Then all heck broke loose.

* * * * *

Lance swept in, snatching Clark away from his uncle as the other boy seized an arrow from Alanna’s quiver and tried to stab the Sergeant with it.  Initial surprise was on Lance’s side; the _Imperioused_ Clark was so oblivious that the golden-clad superhero was able to force him a good half meter away from his uncle before Clark managed to start fighting back.

Alanna’s own reaction was to go for her arrows, slamming two of them into the ground even as she activated their runes; violet magic soared, forming an impenetrable barrier between Team One and the Halloweeners.  The crowd launched forward, fury on every last face, and slammed into the barrier.  Alanna grimaced as they began to pound on her magic, but otherwise the strain didn’t show at all.

Team One bunched up, doing their best to reduce the area Alanna had to cover with her magic.  “Cap!” Parker called over the sudden tumult of sound and fury, his implicit order clear.  Take it.

There was no time to argue.  As Booster struggled and strained to keep Beetle from attacking his uncle, Cap’s eyes swept over the situation.  “Stark, Rhodes!  Cut off the exits!”  The suits thundered into the air, drawing a dropped jaw from Auror Onasi.  “Miracle, Thor!  See if you can find that ‘queen’ Beetle was babbling about.”

Aero-discs hummed as Miracle rose.  “Take her out?”

For an instant, the two heroes locked gazes.  Then a tight smile showed on Captain America’s face.  “If you can.”

Mjolnir whirled a moment, then Thor hurled the hammer upwards with a roar, letting it pull him along with it; Miracle followed, his jaw tight with leashed rage.

Coulson surveyed their position.  “We need more room!” he yelled.  “Hawkeye!”

“Copy!” Hawkeye acknowledged, reaching for her quiver.

“How long can you keep it up?” Cap demanded before she could grab her next arrow.

“An hour right now,” came the cool reply.  “Once I get another arrow down, two.”

“Do it,” Coulson ordered.

Behind them, Booster yelled, “Beetle, stand down!  It’s Max, stand down!”

Coulson glanced over at the two, his sorrow shining bright in his eyes.  Before he could speak, Beetle snarled, “Muggle scum!  Let me go!”

Onasi hissed in shock.  A flick over at him and an arched eyebrow for a question.  Pale, the Auror murmured, “That’s the _Imperious_ talking; I doubt Clark’s even _aware_ of what’s going on right now.”

Even as the Sergeant’s expression hardened, Booster snapped, “Actually, Beetle, now that you _mention_ it, I actually _do_ have magic.”

Less than a second later, Hawkeye’s third arrow embedded itself in the gym’s concrete floor.  Violet curled around the head and shaft of the weapon, strengthening the barrier that protected the small group.  Coulson felt a thread of hope tingle as Beetle stopped fighting, his eyes shifting to the violet magic around them.  “Come on, Clark,” he muttered.  “Come on.”

Without warning, Beetle’s eyes snapped to him and he lunged with a snarl of fury, the arrow in his hands gleaming in the light.  Max winced; Booster’s fist crashed into Beetle’s jaw, taking the blue hero out of the equation.  Beneath the golden goggles, regret shone as sapphire met hazel.  Then Booster turned away, dragging his unconscious best friend to the rear of the group where a reluctant Black Widow cuffed the teen.  They couldn’t risk Clark waking up and attacking them from behind.

Coulson forced his eyes back to the front.  The party was still doing their best to ram down the magical barrier, bodies piling against the violet glow.  “Team, give me options,” he ordered.  “We got to control this thing.”

“We have to stop the gang,” Auror Onasi broke in, a thread of anger running through his voice.  “But before _that_ , Parker, I want answers.  What the _heck_ is going on?”

Max felt Skeets drift in over his shoulder, the security ‘bot ready, willing, and able to defend him if need be.  “Funny you should ask that, Auror Onasi,” he replied sarcastically.  “When we figure that one out, we’ll let you know.”  He turned away pointedly.  “In the meantime…”   The Sergeant grinned, an edge of wicked glee emerging.

“Avengers Assemble!”


	5. Corralling the Hostages

Iron Man and War Machine split almost as soon as they were airborne, Iron Man heading for the gym’s main entrance and War Machine shooting towards the side entrance.  Lou’s eyes narrowed as he studied the HUD.  “They’re not even going for the exits,” he called.

“Why should they?” Spike questioned sarcastically.  “They’ve got a horde of mind-controlled zombies to throw at us.”

“Any sign of this ‘queen’?” Miracle demanded, anger and rage vibrating in his voice.

“Not yet,” Lou replied.  “JARVIS can pin down all the bad guys, but that’s as far as it goes.”

“Copy,” was the frustrated response.  “Mother Box is having the same issue.  Thor?”

“I have not seen her,” the thunder god admitted.  “The three of you are far more adept at identifying a specific enemy than I am.”  A pause, as the blond considered.  “Perhaps landing in amongst them?”

“No, no, no,” Spike blurted, horror in his voice.  “ _You_ could end up dancing to her tune, too, Thor!”

A chagrinned silence was the demigod’s only response for several long seconds.  Then, “That is a fair point, Man of Iron.”

Iron Man slowed, turning to hover above the gym’s entrance.  “They’re gonna figure out we aren’t ordinary cops any minute,” he warned his teammates.

“Let them,” Thor rumbled coldly.

“I got a bone to pick with them anyway,” Miracle agreed, his voice just as icy.

“Not just you,” Lou muttered.  Louder, “Cap, I’m in position.”

“Same here, Capsicle,” Stark seconded.

“All right, keep your eyes open,” Wordy ordered.  “If the gang tries to escape, stop ‘em.”

A second later, Coulson added, “Team, if they attempt any Unforgivables, you have Scorpio.”

“Copy,” Spike acknowledged grimly even as he wondered if going lethal while half Tony Stark was a good idea, even if he _did_ have permission.

* * * * *

Booster grimaced at the order he could overhear; he was more pragmatic about killing than some superheroes were, but he still disliked it.  Even so, the gang wasn’t _his_ problem; no, he had _other_ problems on his hands.  “Skeets, talk to me,” he ordered quietly.

“It appears that the whole of the mob is entirely focused on Hawkeye’s barrier, sir.”

Not good.  “How ya holding up, sis?”

“Better now that I have three arrows down,” Hawkeye replied.  “Still, I’d feel better with a few more to take the load.”

“But no room,” Booster murmured, earning a nod.  Experimentally, the golden hero added his forcefield to the mix, trying to bolster his sister’s defenses.  Gold and violet overlapped, each taking harsh blows from the _Imperioused_ partiers.  Behind them, Skeets let out a startled electronic noise.  “Skeets?”

“Sir, your forcefield!” Skeets cried enthusiastically.

“What abou…” Booster trailed off as he saw it.  “ ‘Lanna, get another arrow ready,” he ordered sharply.

Hawkeye pulled an arrow from her quiver, confusion on her face.  “Lance, I don’t have _room_ for another arrow,” she protested.

“You will,” Booster promised, adjusting his forcefield carefully.  After a moment or two, the forcefield began to expand outwards, forcing the mob away from the narrowest – and weakest – part of the barrier.  Sapphire narrowed as Booster Gold stepped forward, his fingers dancing over the controls for his forcefield.  Slowly, but surely, the forcefield wedged its way outwards, creating a small safe zone.

Alanna gawped in shock; the mob struggled to regain the ground her brother had just taken, but their struggles were fruitless against the powerful forcefield.  Violet turned considering, watching as the forcefield continued to move outwards.  “Stop,” she ordered suddenly; Booster halted at once.  Two arrows swooped past him, burying themselves in the ground before humming as the runes on their heads activated.  Violet magic pulsed, then spread out, adjusting smoothly to the new territory.  Hawkeye grinned as she stepped forward.

“Do that again, brother mine.”

A grin that was just as vicious shone back.  “With pleasure, sis.”

* * * * *

Coulson’s eyes widened in shock as he took in what Booster and Hawkeye were up to.  “All right,” Cap cheered quietly from behind him.  “ _Now_ we’re getting somewhere.”

“This should be _our_ job, Steve,” Coulson protested, right before he flinched and tossed his constable an apologetic look.

“I know,” Cap replied, a glint in his eyes, “But they’re just as trapped as we are, _Max_.  Why _shouldn’t_ they help?”

He still didn’t like it.  But there was no choice.  Parker’s attention shifted to Widow and a perplexed Onasi.  “Try not to hurt anyone, but we’ve _got_ to get through this crowd before the gang gets away.”

“Copy,” Black Widow acknowledged, stalking towards the magical barrier.

“And what do you think _I_ can do, Parker?” Onasi demanded.

“I think you can use your magic!” Coulson snapped back, a deadly look in his eyes as he faced down the Auror.  “They’re all under _Imperious_ , so what’s the problem?”

“They could remember!”

“Is that your fault?” Captain America asked mildly.  “Technically, the gang already _broke_ the Statute of Secrecy by _Imperiousing_ ‘Muggles’ in the first place.”

“And who’s to say they’ll remember what happened in the first place?” Black Widow put in over her shoulder.  “Do wizards remember what happened under the _Imperious_?”

“Most of the time, yes,” Onasi growled.

The Auror puffed up in indignation and no small amount of outrage as he stared at the Avengers.  Then he froze as Skeets drifted in, the football shaped robot offering his own opinion.  “Auror Onasi,” the ‘bot began in a prim tone, “If this gang escapes, they may well escalate their next attempt.  What, precisely, did they attempt to do last year in Paris?”

“How do you know about that?” Onasi blurted.

The ‘bot bobbed in a brief, robotic shrug.  “I have been active all evening, Auror Onasi.  Naturally, I maintain a constant connection to any in-range League communications.”

“You were eavesdropping on me and Eddie?” Parker inquired dangerously.

An offended look – from a _robot_.  “Considering your capacity for finding trouble, Mr. Lord, I considered it a _prudent_ precaution.”

“Okay, what in Merlin’s _name_ is going on?!” Auror Onasi blurted.  “It’s like you all turned into completely different people!”

“No, that was last year,” Lance put in, drifting over himself.  He grinned at the Auror’s slack-jawed gape.  “But something definitely affected the costumes,” the teen added thoughtfully, tilting his head.  Then he snapped back up, his expression turning wry and playful.  “Cap, Hawkeye’s got another three arrows down and we’re starting to put the squeeze on the party-goers.”

A brisk nod.  “Keep going,” Wordy ordered.  One hand rose.  “Stark, Rhodes, how’re the entrances holding up?”

* * * * *

War Machine frowned as he hovered above the side entrance.  “They’re still sitting tight on _this_ end, Cap,” he reported.  “Either they’re really dense or they haven’t cottoned onto us yet.”

“In which case, they’re complete idiots,” Iron Man put in, pulling a few lazy circles above his entrance.  “ ‘Cause it should be _dead_ obvious by now that we’re not your typical cops.”

“Have they noticed we’re gaining ground?”

Both suited heroes paused, studying their HUDs.  “Hard to tell,” Lou admitted.  “They’re just standing there, Wordy.  Close enough to the hostages that we can’t take any shots at ‘em, but…”

“But they’re not panicking either,” Spike clipped in.  “Oh, wait, one of ‘em’s moving right now…”  Tony froze, then bellowed, “Scott, down!  Get down!”

* * * * *

Mister Miracle turned sharply at the warning, gasping as the yellow-green spell clipped him.  For a moment, serenity welled up and he heard the most beautiful voice he’d ever known, but then his childhood memories from Apokolips intruded, shattering the moment and leaving him panting as Ed Lane frantically reached for his _own_ memories, shuddering at the Scott Free ones.  How anyone could’ve _lived_ through that, much less come out halfway sane…  He shoved the memories aside to drop downwards, dodging a second _Imperious_ curse by the skin of his teeth.

“Guys, _don’t_ get hit,” he barked, sounding more like himself than he had since putting Miracle’s costume on.  “Sarge, subjects are attempting _Imperious_ curses.”  For a moment, the sniper and the escape artist grappled, then Ed surrendered to a particularly smug point.  “Greg, Scorpios aren’t going to work.  Not tonight.”

* * * * *

He should’ve thought of that himself.  Grimly, Parker shoved the recriminations aside as he nodded solemnly.  “Copy that, Ed.  Team, no Scorpios unless they throw a Killing Curse.”  The agreements were grim, but Greg still couldn’t believe he’d given Scorpio permission so _easily_.  Why?  But he knew why and it all traced back to the blasted costume he was wearing… _Coulson_ was a SHIELD agent _used_ to dealing with threats that _had_ to be killed.  _Used_ to doing whatever it took to succeed at a mission, no matter what the cost was.

The Sergeant’s skin itched.  The sooner he could get out of this costume, the better.

* * * * *

The air lit up with _Imperious_ curses as the gang did their best to get the flyers under their control.  In turn, the flyers threw themselves into dodging like crazy, zipping over and under any and all curses coming at them.  War Machine, Iron Man, and Mister Miracle managed fairly well, but Thor, dependant on Mjolnir for his ability to fly and much less agile, soon found himself herded into a corner, unable to even move for all the _Imperious_ curses sent his way.

Sam grimaced as he clung to a rafter with one hand, swinging Mjolnir wildly with the other.  He was going to get hit, he just _knew_ it.  Mjolnir slammed two more curses away, arcing back to deflect a third.  The next curse slipped through his guard, hitting him in the arm.  The sniper felt his body relax, his mind turning dreamy, then Thor roared offense and let go of the rafter, dropping down towards the gang, hammer at the ready.

He never reached them; Iron Man snatched him out of midair, hurtling towards the safety of their ground-bound teammates.  “Hang on, buddy,” Spike’s frantic tones came through the headset.

“Spike, I’m me,” Sam protested, wriggling.  “Let go, I’m fine.”

The red and gold suit slowed, the glowing blue eyes somehow looking skeptical.  “You’re fine,” Spike deadpanned.  “You got hit by an _Imperious_ and you’re _fine_?”

Thor glanced away.  “I take it ill when my mind is attacked,” he replied matter-of-factly.  Sam grimaced, taking over again.  “I think…I think we’re good tonight, Spike,” he informed his teammate.  “Our… other selves… are messing with the curse.”

Iron Man’s mask flipped up as Spike considered the blond’s point.  “Ed?” he questioned.  “What do you think?”

It took a minute for the team leader to reply.  “Sam, did you get a blast of Thor’s past?” he asked reluctantly.

“Yeah…you?”

“Same.”

Wordy had clearly been listening closely to the conversation.  “Okay, guys, do your best to avoid getting hit, but don’t assume any one who got hit is automatically _Imperioused_.”

“Man, how do we know?” Lou protested.  “We need code words or something.”

Sam smirked as he started to spin Mjolnir back up to flight speed.  “Just don’t tell me to put the hammer down,” he joked.

“Samtastic!” Spike burst out.  “That’s it!”  He beamed at a confused Thor.  “Our costumes!  We can use superhero code phrases.”

“Figure those out later,” Sarge decided.  “For now, if you get hit, pick a phrase you don’t think they’d know and use that.”

“So what’s _your_ phrase, Boss?” Ed jibed.

A brief hesitation.  Then, with an audible smirk, Parker retorted, “Agent, manager, same difference.”


	6. Sting Like a Beemer

Little by little, bit by bit, the ground-based heroes forced the _Imperious_ victims out of their way and into smaller, easy to contain areas.  Jules was grateful for all the flex cuffs they’d brought along as she briskly cuffed her latest catch.  Although Black Widow was more of an assassin type, Natasha Romanoff still knew perfectly well how to take her prey alive.  Jules straightened, feeling more comfortable with the Widow’s consciousness the longer she wore the costume.  That was probably a bad thing, but Jules couldn’t quite bring herself to care; her team needed her, half assassin or not.

Over the comm, Lou and Spike sputtered near simultaneous indignation and the sniper’s eyes narrowed.  “Spike?  Lou?”

“They almost got me!” Stark burst out indignantly.  “Rhodey?”

One eyebrow hiked as Cap observed dryly, “Spike, I think they _did_ get you.  Pick a phrase.”

As Spike hissed several _highly_ uncharacteristic – and rather colorful – words, Lou drawled, “Not necessary people; just a training exercise.”

_What?_   Before Jules could ask, Spike started laughing hysterically.  Oh.  Movie quote…definitely a movie quote.

“I like that,” Spike announced gleefully.  “I know what my phrase is: Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.”

Widow rolled her eyes.  “Only you, Stark,” she decided as she grabbed another partygoer and knocked them out.  “Only you,” Jules muttered under her breath, thinking that it was also a very _Spike_ thing to say.

A prickle up her spine brought her head up, her eyes narrowing at the sight of their subjects – the distinct _lack_ of mindless, blank expressions on their faces guaranteed her identification.  Most of them were wizards, but several women – witches – also looked rather put out by the turn of events.  One of the witches seemed to stand out from the rest, but for the life of her, Jules couldn’t figure out _why_ Black Widow was so focused on _that witch_.

Then the witch’s head turned and Jules swallowed her gasp as cold orange tinged eyes swept past her to land on Sarge.  The witch paused, studying the Sergeant, her lips forming a moue as she considered.  Black Widow’s instincts _screamed_ warning as the witch smiled, a nasty, chilling smile full of dark promise.

“Sarge, look _out!_ ”

* * * * *

Captain America snapped around at Black Widow’s yell, his blood running cold as Agent Coulson was struck in the chest by the now familiar yellow-green curse.  The Captain roared in fury, his shield flying towards the subject with all the speed and force the enraged hero could muster.  Widow’s shriek of indignation rose above the tumult as she too hurtled towards the witch who’d just cursed their Sergeant, her Widow Bites at the ready.

Light outlined Sarge’s form and he collapsed forward, landing hard on his hands and knees.  Wordy hustled to his boss’s side, too frantic to even _think_ of any appropriately nasty swear words.  “Sarge!”  The other man’s head came up at the cry, his internal struggle clear in the tight grimace on his face and in the depths of his eyes, which were glowing an eerie shade of lime.  Around him, the light was growing more intense, the yellow-green hues blending and blurring together as though the curse was fighting to overcome its victim.  Cap hovered, unsure of how to help or even if he _could_ help.  “Sarge?” he pleaded softly, even as he automatically snapped around to catch his shield on the rebound.

Scarlet light exploded outwards.

* * * * *

High, cold laughter.  His own as he laughed at a dying Blue Beetle, right before he pulled the trigger and killed one of the best men he’d ever known.

_“What a waste.”_

Callous and cruel, not caring that the heroes he was betraying had _trusted_ him, given him a second chance _despite_ his checkered past.  Not caring that every single one of them would’ve gone to the wall for him, _including_ the man he’d just murdered in cold blood.  Max caught a glimpse of himself as he stalked out to speak to his lieutenant; he was blood-spattered, his brown eyes pools of darkness.  Without thinking, he looked back at Beetle’s sprawled corpse…and felt his awareness slip away…

* * * * *

Loki’s laughter as that spear slammed into his back and all the way through his chest; he knew he was dying even as he aimed the massive, overpowered, never-before-tested rifle in his arms at the demigod from his deathbed on the floor.

_“You lack conviction.”_

He’d always known there were things worth dying for.  And now, the Avengers would finally get the push they needed to unite, band together and save the world.  He’d been part of their beginning, hoped to see them in action, but that just wasn’t meant to be.  But there _was_ something he _could_ still do.

_“I don’t think I…”_

He fired, sending the fallen demigod through the Helicarrier’s wall.

_“So_ that’s _what it does.”_

Phil’s eyes slid shut as oblivion beckoned.

* * * * *

He was drowning, straining to get back to _himself_ , whoever that was supposed to be.  Was he hero?  Villain?  Or someone else entirely?  Words.  He could hear them but he couldn’t understand them.  Another voice echoed in his head, ordering him to get up, reassure his teammates that he was fine, even as he prepared to stab them in the back.

_I don’t want to._

The two sides of his psyche ground together, their memories clashing and roaring inside his mind.  One moment he was the good guy gone very bad and the next he was the agent who’d died a hero’s death.  Something whispered in the background, giving him glimpses of a third man…was _that_ who he was?  And still the voice rang in his head, her orders clear, precise, and annoyed.

_Leave me alone._

Who was he?  Maxwell Lord, onetime manager for the JLI and now Checkmate’s Black King?  Phil Coulson, SHIELD agent and one of the key proponents behind the Avengers Initiative?  Or the third man…the one whose name he couldn’t quite grasp?  The inner conflict rose to a fevered pitch, then he made out a single word from the man hovering over him.  _Sarge._   That was when he felt something _snap_ inside him and scarlet power howled from the core of his being, hurling the mystery voice out of his head for good and turning his three dueling selves – into one.

_Get out of my head.  And stay out._

* * * * *

Black Widow’s expression was…annoyed.  Inwardly, she was seething and wishing she’d been faster to their mark than Cap had been.  Never mind that that stupid shield of his had been out of his hand almost before she could move; if _she’d_ been the first one to the witch, then the witch would’ve paid with her life for attacking one of the few people she respected and trusted.  No one, but _no one_ hurt Clint or Phil on _her_ watch.  But with the witch unconscious, she couldn’t overrule her _cop_ side; though Jules was just as angry as Widow, she point blank drew the line at murder.

She turned just in time to see red light explode outwards from her Sergeant; his eyes glowed with the color as he pushed himself upright and took command with a smooth confidence that belied the hint of fear buried in the depths of hazel-turned-scarlet.  “Team One, take ‘em down.”

“Copy,” rang out from the entire team.

Whooping, Spike dropped from the rafters, landing in the center of the gang with Sam and Lou right behind him.  Mjolnir slammed into the ground, knocking the gang down without any risk to Sam’s teammates.  With the wizards down, Iron Man coolly knocked them out with swift, sure strikes from his repulsors.  Ed landed smoothly in the middle of a second cluster of wizards, Miracle’s stun grenades flying at their targets with perfect aim, even as Lou hit the subjects from behind, his smirk just as mischievous as Spike’s beneath War Machine’s impassive faceplate.

Jules and Wordy plowed into the group right in front of them, Captain America’s shield giving off its trademark hum as the brunet threw it, a wicked, triumphant grin on his face.  Jules resisted the urge to laugh as she grabbed one wizard and forced him to head-butt his friend right before she tazed both of them.  Booster Shots sailed into two wizards who’d turned to run, a third dropping as Skeets zipped past, the security ‘bot’s weapons alight as he bobbed and wove under the vibranium shield flying back to its owner.  Hawkeye’s arrows slammed into the ground, cutting the last of the partiers off from the fight; violet magic flared, forming a safe corridor through the entire gym.

Auror Onasi gawped as a seething Thor dragged the lead witch to his Sergeant; both techies glared the protesting witch into silence, her babbles of innocence dying out even as she voiced them.  Then Onasi straightened his shoulders and joined the two men, hiding his confusion over the night’s events behind a cool mask of icy professionalism.

“What do we have here?” he mock-questioned, circling the frightened witch.  “ _Surely_ , no one who would be _foolish_ enough to think that Halloween suspends the Statute of Secrecy.”  He stopped, fixing the paling woman with his best glare.  “ _Would_ we, Miss…?”

Her lip curled, fear melting into trademark arrogance.  “I am Marie von Schuster of the Noble House of Schuster and I _demand_ that you release me!  _Obliviate_ the Muggles and have done with it!”

“Just like that?” Braddock demanded.  “You had your fun and now you think you can just walk away?”

Another sneer.  “My family was magical before _yours_ rose from the _slime_ , Mudblood.”

The bark of laughter mixed bitter and irony with a hefty dose of incredulity.  “Try again,” the constable mocked.  “You come in, attack _our_ people, and you think you get off scot-free?  Not happening.”

“No, it’s not,” the Sergeant agreed, a glint of something…predatory…in his eyes.  “You attacked a gym full of innocent children, you attacked _my_ team, and you’ve put the _entire_ wizarding world at risk with your _stunt_.”  The red hue in Parker’s eyes strengthened as he leaned forward, letting the full weight of both Maxwell Lord and Phil Coulson’s _displeasure_ land on the hapless witch.  “Don’t _ever_ attack _my_ people again,” he growled before spinning away to organize the aftermath.

Auror Onasi whistled softly under his breath as he watched the furious man stalk away.  Braddock’s expression was emotionless.  “How angry is he?” Onasi asked curiously, even as he casually cast a Silencing Spell to keep the gang’s ringleader from hearing the response.

A slight shrug was the only response at first as the sniper watched his boss’s retreating form.  Then, softly, the blond replied, “Don’t know.  Depends on how badly they scared him.”

“How badly _they_ scared _him_?” Onasi echoed incredulously.

“Yeah.”  The single word came from Parker’s nephew, his face writ large with concern as he pulled the yellow goggles off his head.  “I think it might be the OMAC Project.”

The brunet Auror blinked in surprise as the rest of Team One grouped up.  “What’s the OMAC Project?”


	7. Halloween Consequences

Braddock winced as he traded looks with Scarlatti, Young, and Lane.  Then his expression sharpened and he snapped around to the teenager.  “Explain,” he ordered, his voice deepening with an unfamiliar rumble.

“Just because all the DC costumes were meant to be from the JLI run doesn’t mean the Halloween spell last year _stayed_ with those memories,” Heir Calvin explained bluntly.  “ _I’ve_ got memories from the OMAC Project _and_ the events of 52.”

“52?” Onasi interrupted, totally lost.

“They’re comic book runs,” Heiress Calvin chipped in.

“Muggles have _comic books_?”

This comment earned the Auror several annoyed and rather irritated looks from his colleagues and the young Calvins.  Then Heir Calvin smirked, his mischievous side coming out to play, fully aided and abetted by Skeets, who slipped up next to the Auror, unnoticed, as the golden hero pushed off and hovered a full meter off the ground.  “Booster Gold, Time Master and Justice League International member, at your service.”  He flipped upside down, casually activating his forcefield as he did so.  “I started off in my own comic book before joining the JLI early on in _their_ run.  My solo book got canceled in that Millennium fiasco, but I stuck with the JLI until I left to join the Conglomerate.  Beetle was a bit ticked at me over that one, but we patched things up.”

Lane cleared his throat, interrupting the young man.  “Shouldn’t your memories stop during the JLI years?”

The gold-clad hero flipped right-side up again.  “Do _yours_?”

Silently, Lane shook his head in the negative.

A satisfied nod.  “That’s the _point_ , Uncle Ed.  The Halloween spell pretty much screwed _everything_ up.  _Now_ , instead of _just_ the JLI, we’ve got the whole enchilada.  _Including_ the OMAC Project and everything else that happened after that.”

“And Uncle Greg is dressed up as a character _we_ invented,” the rather distressed looking redhead finished.

“Invented?” Onasi asked curiously.

“I hate to break up a perfectly good explanation,” Wordsworth butted in, “But we’d better get the subjects to the Auror Division and all these people out of flex cuffs before the _Imperious_ wears off.”

Onasi glanced around the crowded gymnasium, taking in all the work that lay ahead of them.  Then he winced.  Madam Locksley was _not_ going to be happy with him.

* * * * *

By the time the gang was dropped off at the Auror Division, Team One had completely shed their costumes and the accompanying odd behavior.  Parker was grimmer than usual, but beyond that, Onasi’s Muggle colleagues were much as they ever had been.  Not a single one of his fellow wizards noticed anything amiss, a fact that left the Auror squirming and wondering if he should tell Madame Locksley _exactly_ what had happened.  Except…

Despite the odds against them, not a single person had ended up dead or permanently incapacitated by the _Imperious_.  And Onasi couldn’t quite convince himself that they could’ve done it without the costumes.  So the Auror kept quiet, not breathing even so much as a _syllable_ of the _real_ chain of events while Auror Callahan smoothly wove a believable tale that held hints of the truth, if not the whole truth.

* * * * *

It was close to two in the morning by the time Team One was finished with their debrief and the aftermath of their third Halloween hot call.  Greg Parker forced himself to keep his expression calm and his emotions under control as he surveyed his tired team.  “Good work tonight, guys.  Go home, get some sleep.”

To his secret dismay, none of them moved.  Ed even made himself comfortable in his briefing room chair.  The sniper’s blue eyes flicked to the Sergeant, calm and confident in a way the latter had long since ceased to feel.  “You okay, Boss?”

No, he wasn’t.  The costume was off, but the vivid memories lingered.  The feel of two completely different guns in his hands, used for equally different purposes; he could hardly stand to touch his own sidearm.  But at the end of the day, he was fine, his team was fine, and he could deal.  So Parker pulled his trademark smile into place.  “I will be, Eddie.”

His team leader ignored the deflection as he leaned forward, his expression going intent.  “You’re not him, Boss.  You won’t do what he did.”

Fresh pain prickled at his conscience, inspired by memories that weren’t his; the Sergeant held his mask in place with an effort.  Nonetheless, Greg held his subordinate’s gaze and even offered a short nod.  “I know that, Ed.”

For a moment, the room was still, an unspoken tension hanging.  Then Ed returned his boss’s nod and rose from his chair; the team rapidly followed their team leader out of the room, leaving their boss to his own devices.  Once they were gone, Greg waited until the sound of his team’s footsteps faded.  Then his smile slipped away and he sank down in his chair, burying his face in his hands as regret for Maxwell Lord’s actions crashed over him.

* * * * *

“Ed, what are you doing?” Jules hissed.  “You _know_ him…”

“Yeah, I do,” Ed interrupted.  “And he doesn’t want to talk about it right now.”  The team leader shook his head grimly.  “Jules, let it go.  Give him a couple days to get his head around this.”

“Tonight’s too close?” Wordy questioned from the other side.

Ed inclined his head.  “For _all_ of us,” the tall constable stressed.  “Don’t know about you guys, but I’ve still got Scott Free’s memories running around.”  At the murmurs and nods from his teammates, Ed grimaced and forged ahead.  “Give it a day or two, guys.  If the memories haven’t gone away by next week, we can corner the Boss and talk some sense into him.  But for now, drop it.”

Reluctantly, the sniper’s teammates agreed and departed for the locker room.  For his part, Ed crept back up the ramp, using every scrap of Free’s considerable escape artist skills to remain unheard by his superior.  Lane peered into the briefing room, forcing himself to stay still as he watched his friend’s shoulders shake.  Without an ounce of hesitation, Ed slipped into the room and rested a hand on Greg’s shoulder; Greg’s head snapped up from his hands, wet hazel eyes widening in surprise at Ed’s presence.  Ed didn’t say a word, though his hand tightened, his support clear.

“How could he, Ed?”  Bitterness dripped from Greg’s words.

“Wish I knew,” Ed replied wholeheartedly.  “But it wasn’t _you_ , Greg.  Don’t sit here kicking yourself for something you didn’t even _do_.”

The Sergeant’s jaw tightened.  “It feels like I did,” he admitted quietly.

“And it feels like I grew up on a world I wouldn’t drop my worst enemy into the middle of,” Ed retorted bluntly.  “Doesn’t mean it happened.”  He shook his head.  “Snap out of it, Greg.  We made a bad call; we shouldn’t have worn those stupid costumes at all.”

His boss managed a faint smile.  “We didn’t know, Ed.”

Ed hiked one shoulder.  “So we burn ‘em and forget this ever happened.”

“Copy that,” Greg breathed.

* * * * *

A faint, barely seen outline frowned as he watched the two officers converse.  The magical construct turned away, a plan already running through his mind.  The costumes were already tucked back in their trunk, easy enough to magically hide until the memory of them faded away.  Regret tinged at him, but he pushed it away with ease.  If the costumes were destroyed now, he would never have his chance.

He looked up as a small, football-shaped security ‘bot appeared and drifted to his side.  “Well?”

“By tomorrow, they will all have forgotten tonight’s events,” Skeets reported solemnly.  “The altered memories will take hold, just as you planned.  By next year, tonight will be little more than a bad dream and they will be unable to comprehend why they feel so compelled to wear the costumes once more.”  The robot hesitated, then forged on.  “It is a dangerous game you play, Mr. Lord.”

“Dangerous,” Lord agreed, his expression just as solemn as Skeets’ words.  “But necessary, Skeets.”

The ‘bot bobbed in midair, unconvinced.

Lord looked away.  “If I’d wanted to, I could’ve forced Parker’s hand tonight,” he reminded the ‘bot.

“You would have been stopped,” Skeets replied severely.

“But Parker would’ve been devastated,” Lord retorted.  The former businessman glanced over at the briefing room, his expression turning shadowed.  “Perhaps their course is wiser than mine,” he admitted quietly, “But I’ve come too far to stop now.”

“Even if you must wait another year?” Skeets queried innocently.

“Even if I have to wait _more_ than one year,” was the grim reply.  “They’re the only ones who can wear the costumes now; those blasted children made _sure_ of that; they’re my only chance now.”

“To do what?” Skeets demanded sharply, flitting back and forth in agitation.  “I will not help you _this_ time, Lord!”

A sardonic grin tipped Lord’s jaw.  “As I recall,” he drawled pointedly, “I had to take you apart to get you to help me the first time, Skeets.”  He turned away, then glanced back.  “And yet, it was not _I_ who ultimately turned you against Booster.”  Another smirk.  “How long did it take you to realize Booster _could_ have saved Blue Beetle?”

Skeets sank down.  “Too long,” he confessed.  Then he surged back up.  “What is it that you hope to accomplish with this ruse?  The same trick will not work twice.”

“No,” the ghost of a man who had never existed agreed with a foreboding chuckle.  “It doesn’t have to work again, Skeets.”  He smiled a dark smile, full of dangerous promise.  “In fact, I’m _counting_ on it not working again.”

“What do you mean?”

A low chuckle erupted.  “At least three hours last year,” the hero-turned-villain mused.  “Another four, five if we are lucky, this year.”  His smile grew broader.  “Each hour builds on the last, Skeets.  The longer they _wear_ the costumes…the more they are affected.”  A casual shrug as Skeets sputtered alarm.

“You mean to turn them _into_ the costumes?”

“That would be impossible,” Lord conceded.  “The magic that shields them is too powerful for such a gambit.”  He shook his head thoughtfully and walked away, his form beginning to shred as the first shards of dawn began to threaten.  “By this time next year, we will have enough magic to move forward,” he explained to the small robot as he moved.  “We will be able to exist _independently_ of our wearers.”

“And _you_ will turn on them,” Skeets growled.

“Perhaps,” Lord granted casually.  “Or perhaps not.”  He looked up at a sight only he could see: Beetle’s broken, battered body.  Guilt pulsed and this time he didn’t bother to push it away.  Secretly, Checkmate’s Black King acknowledged that Parker had affected _him_ far more than he’d affected the solid, honorable negotiator.

As the last of his form faded away, Maxwell Lord lowered his head and let a single tear slip down his cheek.

_I’m sorry, Ted._

There was no answer.

There never would be.

 

_~ Fin_


End file.
